It's Not Over Until the Fat Lady Sings
by Burnee14
Summary: When Smurf collapses, Molly sees her life flash before her eyes. Will her best mate survive? Will she ever be with her Captain James? My own version of the season finale and beyond. Where there doesn't need to be any definitive conclusion, because I can just keep on going until I feel the need to stop. If you don't like it, don't read!
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Hello fellow Our Girl fans. I've basically been a huge fan of this series ever since the first episode (never having seen the one off) and continued to watch it up to the finale. I appreciate that they weren't planning on a second series, and that it needed to be left at some conclusion (i.e- love triangle conclusion) but even so I didn't like it. Yup, I'm stubborn. I just felt so damn sorry for Smurf. His life was pretty awful. This is me making up for it. Two words: Vegas Baby!_**

**_Please R&R! Enjoy, Burnee x_**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1.<strong>

"They say it's a bleed on the brain. Tiny. Almost too small to even detect. But it's his_ brain_. Even I know that's the most vulnerable part of the human body and I can be a proper muppet sometimes. It's all my fault. It's all my _bloody_ fault" after starting off strong, my voice catches and before I know what's happening, I'm full on sobbing, hiccups and all.

"I'm so sick of crying. But I- I just don't know what to do anymore. If he dies then it will be my fault. He collapsed, and I thought he was just mucking around, you know? I'm an army medic and I just stood there like a massive tosser" I say.

Charles moves his arm so that it's wrapped around my back. I lean my head on his shoulder, in a pose so similar to that of me and Smurf not two weeks ago, whilst _we_ waited on the verdict of the boss man. How can things change so quickly? Was it my doing? Have I wished this upon him? If I have, I'll never forgive myself. I was selfish, and now it might be too late to say sorry.

"It's not your fault. It will never be your fault. He'll be alright. He got this injury whilst in my charge, so if it's anyone's fault, it's mine" Charles murmurs into my hair.

"I don't know how you can even say that. You may have been his captain, but I was his_ medic_. He's in a coma. He's been like that for hours. The doctors don't know what to do, and all the while I'm sitting here like a bleeding idiot not knowing how to help or what to tell his mum. His _mum_, Charles. What am I going to tell his mum?" I know I'm being harsh on him, but after the last few weeks I've lost all control on my emotions, and this may just send me off the deep end.

We had been out, roaming the streets of town. Smurf had been acting strange, but I'd just thought he was nervous like the rest of us, unused to the real world after months in Afghan. Fracked. I had been beyond stupid; of course he didn't need glasses- he was almost as good a shot as a sniper. There was nothing wrong with his eyes. It was all in his head, yet I'd been too blind to see it. They're giving me a medal for bravery, but I've done nothing heroic in my entire _life_, and now my best mate lies dying because I've been too naïve to notice anything wrong with him.

They didn't really know where the head injury had come from; it was probably caused by the knock he'd sustained when he was first shot and had to be air-lifted out. But nobody knows. And now it might be too late.

"Look, Bos- Charles" I correct, wincing, "I'm gonna be here a while."

He sighs, but smiles sadly down at me anyway. "If that's meant to be a hint for me to leave Dawes, then I'd prefer for you to just ask me to go. I'd understand."

"No… No, I don't want you to go. It's just that… I'm probably gonna be a nightmare to be around and I don't want ta accidently bite your head off or anything."

He leans down and kisses my cheek. "If that's all then I'll stay. I feel responsible for him too, Molly" he says softly. "Ever since his brother died. I feel like I need to protect him, or at least watch out for him. I can't bare witness to another Smith's funeral."

We sit quietly and eventually drift off into a relatively undisturbed sleep, taking comfort in each other's arms. The hospital waiting seats aren't the most comfortable, but we're both so exhausted after being through so much in the past few weeks that it doesn't bother us.

The next morning comes around all too soon. With it, the news that Smurf has made it through the night, but is still in a critical condition. They would need to operate and relieve pressure soon, or they risked the possibility of him never waking up.

Charles is called away at around ten; his son had been feeling unwell and Rebecca had to go to work, which meant he was on child duty. He made me promise that if I got any news that I would call him immediately. I just agreed, still in a shut-down mind of my own. He said he would try and make it back to the hospital by six later that day, but said he could make no promises.

Standing up, I go downstairs in the lift, my legs stiff, and into the breakfast hall. After grabbing a bacon sandwich and mug of tea (which just reminded me more of Smurf) I go back to my seat, outside his room. There are no windows allowing me to look inside, so I just option to pester every single member of staff that goes in and out of it.

After a relatively quiet period of time, I'm thinking about walking up to his door and pounding on it until they let me in to see him, when I feel the seat next to mine sag under a new weight. Turning, thinking it was Charles, I'm almost shocked to see Smurf's mum. But of course she would be here.

She just stares straight ahead, not even acknowledging my presence beside her. We just sit, lost in thought, until I can't take the silence any longer.

"I'm so sorry , it's all my fault. And-" I'm cut off.

"It wasn't your fault. I was the one that let him enlist. After everything that happened to his brother. I should have known something like this would happen. I had a bad feeling, but I ignored it" she turns to face me. "I can't lose him Molly. I can't. The army has already taken one of my boys, and I'll be damned if they take another."

I can tell she is putting on a brave act, and her façade is only really let down by the slight tremble in her lower lip. Without really thinking about it, I wrap an arm around the older woman and give her a gentle squeeze. There's no point in saying that everything will be okay, because the chances are not stacked in our favour. When they wheel him out on a stretcher, with tubes and pipes sticking out from places that should usually be left alone, we both stand to catch a brief glance of him before he's whisked away. Machines beep showing brain activity and a pulse, and at least five medical personnel surround him, yet it offers us no real comfort.

We sit as companions for the rest of the day, and even when she leaves to go home, to Newport by herself, I stayed rooted. And, just like the night before, sitting in the same chair, I sleep. But without Charles there, by myself, my dreams are anything but peaceful.

_I'm in Afghanistan. Bashira is here. The boss man. Smurf. We are all standing on the bridge. Badrai stands in front of us, holding a gun. It's just us, surrounded by mountains and rocks. Afghanistan has never looked so desolate, so isolated, and even with three people I have come to know like family, I've never felt more alone._

_"Which one goes first? Eenie eenie minie moe" he chants, a gruff and unnatural sound coming from his mouth._

_He holds up the gun and fires. Captain James collapses to the ground, his face contorted in pain. Another shot rings out. Bashira crumples, looking shocked, tears streaming out of her beautifully clear eyes. _

_I turn to my only other companion, hand outstretched. "Smurf!"_

_He turns slowly, smiling his sad smile. His blue eyes are calm. "It's going to be okay" he say, welsh accent drawling, but then the last bullet finds its mark, and, he too, falls to the ground._

"Molly? Molly Dawes?" I hear, though cannot recognise the voice calling to me.

A hand grips my shoulder and I gasp awake, sweat lining my forehead. It was just a dream. They're all still alive. At least…

"Smurf? Smurf! Is he okay?" I jump up and cry, looking hysterically at the young nurse.

"Molly, I need you to calm down" she speaks calmly, professionally.

"No._ No. _I can't lose him. And his mum. She can't lose another son, that wouldn't be _fair_" I rant, letting tears well up and fall silently.

The nurse places a hand on my shoulder. But she is smiling. How dare she. How _dare she. _

"Miss Dawes, I'm sorry for waking you at such an hour" she says matter of fact like.

It was only then that I stop and look up at the clock that hangs in the middle of the opposite wall. It is two in the morning. I can't lose him now. Not like this. I swear to god, if he dies I will never go to Vegas, I will never go to another Westham match, or get another black cab, or eat another bacon butty. I will never-

"But he's asking for you" she says.

"What do you mean? He's- Wait, he's not dead?" I gasp out in disbelief.

Thank God.

The nurse smiles and gestures towards the door opposite where we stand. What does she mean _he's_ asking for me? Is Charles back?

"No, he's not dead. Dylan is doing quite well considering all he's been through."

"Wait" I mutter. "Who's Dyla- Oh, you mean Smurf?" I ask.

The nurse smiles, a genuine one, and nods.

"He wants to see you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'm absolutely thrilled by the response to my writing; I didn't think Our Girl had had such a large following, but I'm glad it does! Please leave any comments you feel apply, and review, follow and favourite.**

**-Burnee x**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

"He's awake? How is that even possible? He was in a blinking coma!" I say.

The nurse looks mildly amused. She moves aside and motions for me to enter his room. I take a few hesitant steps towards his door, when all of a sudden I'm brought up by a noise I never thought I would get to hear ever again.

Before I have time to take control of my own feet, I'm racing towards the door. I fling it open and march inside, arms crossed and brow fixed in a frown.

"You welsh bastard. I have been out there for hours, worried sick that you were going to die, and now, in the middle of the night, I wake up and hear you laughi- Oh" I pull up short and properly take in my surroundings.

"Mrs Smurf. I'm sorry, I didn't know you was in here. I- Um." I turn twenty shades of red and start retracing my steps.

She just smiles and gestures me towards a seat at the opposite side of the bed to where she is.

"Don't be silly Molly. Come in, I was just about to leave. I have to get back. They called me as soon as he woke up and I drove straight over. Don't be giving me that look now, you're not intruding."

She stands up, letting go of the hand she had been holding and walks towards the door I had just entered through. She stops before me and engulfs me in a hug.

"Thank you Molly. Thank you for watching over him for me. He's lucky to have you" she says, quiet enough so that the patient can't hear.

After she's left and the door has swung shut behind her, I turn towards his bed.

"If you don't remove that big ass smirk from your face right this second you pansy, I'm gonna have to go over there and remove it myself." I quip, but my chastising is undercut by the huge grin that can't help but spread across my face.

That smirk is one of the best sights of my life. But he will never know that.

"I mean shit Smurf. I thought you was _dead._"

He just stares at me with those big blue eyes, smiling.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you just call me a pansy?" he can't help but smirk again.

I take one look at him and burst out laughing. He raises his eyebrows. I'm in fits, and it takes several seconds for me to calm down before I can bring myself to form a coherent sentence. I take a seat next to his bed.

"I'm trying to clean up my potty mouth" I explain.

"Really?" he retorts.

Sarcastic smart ass.

"Pansy was all I had! In my eyes, you've pretty much come back from the dead, so sorry if I'm not calling you a lot worse."

He looks back at me. He's pale, and still attached to multiple machines, but he's alive. His dark hair is ruffled and he has a day or two's worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks ill, but at least he's no longer on the floor, eyes rolling, trying to mutter something that I just can't understand. I never thought I would see him again, but here he is, smiling and talking to me.

"I missed you too Molls" he says, nodding, annoyingly able to read my expression like a well-known book.

"Don't go all sentimental on me now, or I'll just screw it up like all those times in Afghan"

"Do you know what that even means?"

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Sentimental" he quips, trying his best to mimic my accent.

I shake my head at him, grinning.

"No. But seriously Smurf, you nearly _died_" I add on the last part in a more serious tone.

"Well, I'm not quite out of the woods yet" he murmurs.

"No. Don't stay that. We still need to go to Vegas" I lean forward slightly. "We're going to get those fancy ass first-class tickets and you are going to parade me around in my red dress, whilst doubling your money on the roulette table."

He smiles again, looking tired, and takes my hand in his. I let him. After a minute sat in silence, I decide to say what's been on my mind ever since he collapsed.

"Look, Smurf. I'm so sorry. You got this" I point to his head, "when I was your medic. And I'd been out with ya all day and I didn't realise something was wrong. Of course you don't need bloody glasses. But I was too blind to see it."

"Nice pun" he says, drawing his eyes from mine, looking slightly sheepish.

"No, I'm serious" I whisper. "You would have died, and it would have been my fault."

I wipe away a tear that's chosen that precise second to fall. I scrunch my eyes up tight to prevent more, but stop because it's hurting my head. I look back at Smurf to see that he has no witty retort ready this time. He just looks as sad as I feel.

"Come on" he says tiredly, tapping the mattress next to him.

"No, Smurf. You may have nearly died but I ain't gonna sleep with you."

"Friends. Remember?" he says.

I roll my eyes and stand up, perching on the bed. Careful not to interfere with any wires or tubes, I sit with my back pressed to the backboard and my legs lain out over the linen duvet. He sits next to me, propped up on half a dozen pillows.

We sit, not saying a word. It's a comfortable silence; we lean on each other, supporting each other.

"It wouldn't have been your fault" he mumbles, tone filled with sincerity. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

When I open my mouth to reply, he plants his hand on my face, stopping me.

"Shut up" he says, his voice wavering slightly.

I respect his request, so he removes his hand.

We talk about the little things in life. When I breach the topic of his head, how he is, he shoots it down quickly, so I leave it.

Before long, I drift to sleep. I don't dream of Afghan. I don't see my friends being shot. I'm not trapped in a terror ridden spiral. I don't dream of anything. There, lying with my best mate, I have the most peaceful night of my life. Yes, I don't know what my future will hold. I don't know if I'll go back to serve in the army. I don't know what will happen between me and Charles. But right now, I simply don't care. And that suits me just fine.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Hey again :) I'm just blown away by the amount of views and visitors I have received- I'm truly thankful that so many of you take time out of your day to read what I love to write. Thank you to those that have left reviews, they made my day!**_

_**As for the story, I'm still finding my feet with writing in this particular genre (I usually write fantasy/sci-fi fics) and also finding a way to differentiate character's voices. I promise that there will be a lot of upcoming Captain Dawsey moments (so we can all look forward to them)!**_

_**Please follow, review and favourite- it would mean a lot!**_

_**Enjoy, Burnee xx**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

I roll slowly over and find myself propped against something hard and warm. I snuggle in closer, grateful for the readily given hot-water bottle, and am surprised when I hear quiet chuckling. It sends small vibrations from the producer of said sound, and over to me. It's annoying. I punch the warm thing for daring to wake me from one of the best night's sleeps I've had in ages.

"Shit, Molls. That bloody hurt" he gasps, no doubt nursing the arm I had (imaginary bunny ears) 'mutilated'.

"Yeah, well you deserved it ya git. I was asleep" I complain.

"Harsh words do not befit a lady."

I give him the finger, still not budging from the comfy mattress.

"Just don't forget that you were the one man-handling _me. _And in a hospital bed no doubt."

I can hear the smirk in his voice. Welsh *insert creative name here*. So, being the good little girl I am, I sit up, eyes still closed, grab a soft pillow from behind my head and throw it, with considerable force, in the general direction of his stomach. I hear a slight '_oof_' in reward for my efforts, before opening my eyes and staring up at the plain white ceiling.

"Add 'improper use of equipment' and 'intent to harm a patient' to your list of crimes that seems to be steadily building on these premises, Dawsey" he says, eyes glinting wickedly.

"Haha, your_ sooo_ funny" I mutter, still too tired to come up with anything good in response, so I go with good old-fashioned sarcasm.

After running my hands briefly over my face, and wiping the gunk from my eyes, I look around the lightening room. And groan. It's natural light, from outside. He gives me an inquisitive look.

"Well, what's the time?" I ask, stretching.

"The nurse came in about ten minutes ago to give me more painkillers, and it was seven then."

I'm fumbling for my phone before he's even finished the sentence.

"What's the rush? Hair appointment you forgot to go to?" he asks, looking very pleased with himself.

I give him a look, shaking my head.

"No. I told Charl- Captain James that I would call him as soon as anything happened with you."

Smurf's light tone seems to drop slightly, and he becomes noticeably more serious.

"The boss-man was here?" he asks.

"Yeah" I say, punching in a number I'd gone and learnt off by heart. "He was here the other night, but he had to leave because his son was sick."

I stand and walk into one of the room's corners in an attempt to gain more privacy. Yeah, like that's gonna happen. He picks up on the fourth ring.

"*Hello?*" he asks, obviously still groggy from sleep, noticeable by the slur to his words.

The one word sends butterflies dancing about in my stomach and I have to stop myself from giggling like a school girl, chatting to her first crush. He is truly the most amazing person I've ever met. Why he would ever be interested in a girl like me was just bewildering, but I'm not complaining in the least. He's clever, he's funny, he's sensitive, and by God he's gorgeous. Like drop dead, roll of a cliff and die multiple times over gorgeous. Yeah… I may be a little obsessed.

"Morning sleep-head" I grin.

"*Molly?*" he seems to wake up and his words become clearer. "*Hey, what's happening?*"

He sounds guarded, _afraid _even.

"What, I'm not allowed to call just to say hi?" I can't help but tease him slightly.

He sighs, though I can tell it's not one of annoyance, rather of exhaustion. Smurf fake gags behind me. I roll my eyes and give him the finger again behind my back. I can hear footsteps approaching in the background noise, tinny through the ear piece.

_"__*Daddy? Who are you talking to?*"_ a new voice asks.

I smile when I recognise it as his son.

_"__*I'm talking to one of my friends. You remember Molly don't you? She's the medic that saved Daddy's life*" _he says, though the phone is further away from him than before, I can still make out their conversation.

_"__*Oh yeah! She's funny. Hi Molly!*" _his son chirps, the last part a little louder.

I can't help but grin a little wider. Charles's son is a great kid, similar to his dad in that respect.

_"__*Hey, go wait in the kitchen and I'll be there in minute, okay champ?*"_ he says.

I hear the sound of receding feet, and then Charles comes back on the line.

"How is he?" I ask.

"*Oh, you know. He'll be fine. He's just picked something up from school by the looks of it, but he's a lot better than he was yesterday, so I can come back to the hospital after I've dropped him off*" he says, still sounding tired.

A moment passes where we don't say anything.

"*You sound very upbeat. I'm guessing Smurf's made it through the night again?*" he asks.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. You'll see for yourself soon enough though" I say.

"*Okay…*" he sounds a little wary. "*I look forward to seeing you Dawes.*"

"Ditto. _Captain_" I smirk, because I just can't help myself.

I hear him give a slight snort of laughter, which brings an even bigger smirk to my features, before we both hang up.

I turn around to see Smurf sitting, arms crossed, and looking pale.

"Smurf mate, you doing okay?" I ask, walking over and putting my palm to his forehead.

He brushes my hand off without much effort, looking straight ahead at the wall opposite him.

"Do you need me to get someone, or something?" I try again, looking around to get him some water.

"Just- Just leave it, yeah?" he replies.

I take another second to look at his face; to judge how well he is, before deciding to sit down in the plastic chair next to where he lies.

"So the boss-man is coming here then?" he asks, finally looking directly at me, colour beginning to creep its way back into his cheeks.

"Yeah, he is. But Smurf, you sure you're okay? I can ask him not to come if you want" I say, but he's already shaking his head at my proposal.

"No, let him come. But please Molly…" he takes in a breath, "don't be all over him whilst he's here, because I don't think… I don't think I could handle that. Okay?" he pleads, as if this is the biggest thing he's ever asked of me.

I give him a reassuring smile and take one of his hands.

"Is that what's getting you all worked up, you plonker?" I ask.

By the look in his eye, I can tell that it's certainly part of the reason.

"Smurf, look I'm sorr-"

"Stop apologising" he cuts me off. "I shouldn't have said anything. I know where we stand, and that's fine by me Molls, but I just can't have it thrown in my face right now" he takes another breath and seems to relax having taken it off his chest. "I guess we all remember what happened the last time I witnessed something like that" he says, only half-jokingly.

I give out a quiet, albeit uneasy laugh.

"You know I love you too though don't ya? It's… It's just a different kind of love, isn't it? You're my best mate. I'd struggle to live without ya. You're my rock, Smurf. And I _am _sorry that I've hurt ya, you have to believe that."

He's not looking at me again by the time I've finished. His gaze if averted, and it looks as if he's battling with emotions. He swallows deeply, licking his chapped lips.

"Do you love him?" he asks.

"Smurf-" I try and stop him.

"Do you?" he asks again, still scarily calm.

"Smurf, don't do this to yourself" I beg.

"Molly" he says, turning to look me directly in the eye, unblinking. "Do you love Captain James?"

"I-"

All of a sudden, there's a scuffling at the door. I hear grunting, a bang, and then the door gets forced open. And the whole of Two Section tumbles forwards in a heap, before quickly standing and righting themselves.

"Molly" they all acknowledge me, nodding in greeting, smiling as they single into the room, all looking different without their army gear on. A few send me knowing glances as if I'd been caught doing something. My glare quickly stops them.

My conversation with Smurf is cut short as they circle his bed, grinning and prodding different pieces of equipment.

"Twice in the space of two weeks, Smurf. They all think you're faking it to get Molly here to notice you" says Corporal Kinders.

Smurf gives a half-hearted laugh, but I can tell he's not into it. His gaze quickly flashes to me and I see the hint of an apology there before he starts going off on one.

"Yeah, she just told me she loves me, so I must be doing something right. Isn't that right Molls?" he calls over.

And he's back. With a vengeance.

The others turn to look at me, jeering. I give him a look that says game on, then turn on my heel, calling "Prick!" over my shoulder.

Once I'm through the door, outside in the corridor, I stop, unsure where to go or what to do. Smurf's question has seriously thrown me. Do I love him? Do I love Charles? Captain James? Boss-man? I sigh. It doesn't matter what name I give him, he's still the same person.

I can hear them all chatting inside the room, but I don't know if I can face going back in there. Smurf can act like a real jerk sometimes. He asks me to hold off on the boss-man, yet treats me like a freaking slut. I feel like I'm back to square one. I don't want them to know. I don't want them to know about me and Charles. I don't want them to disrespect me. But, then again, I don't really want them thinking I'm with Smurf either. Which is the worse of two evils?

I can't really be sure, but I do know one thing. A decision will be made. And it will be made today.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey everyone, this will be the last chapter for a couple of weeks because I now have my mock GCSE exams... Fun. This chapter is extra fluffy for all you Captain Dawsey shippers. Thanks for the reviews, please keep em' coming! **

**Enjoy, Burnee x**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

There are many, many joys in life to balance out all that is bad. These very things will, of course, change depending on who you ask; the smell of freshly mown grass, the breeze at the seaside, candy floss at the fairground… blah blah blah. No. My happiness will always be down to two very special men. Yes it may be November, and yes it's bloody freezing outside, with the clocks haven gone back and the days getting shorter, but when you see a Ben & Jerry's vending machine, in all its glory, the urge can simply not be contained.

I sit, still a little frustrated, in my seat, outside his room. The rest of two section are inside, paying no attention to the two visitors at a time thing, yet again, and still, no doubt, playing the 'war hero' card. I love them like a family, I really do, but they are quite simply delusional. And, to be honest, I'm more than happy to avoid that awkward conversation with Smurf that will, no doubt, resurface again when it's just me and him. I understand that he wants reasons, confirmation and to know that I will stick by my decision, but I can't be the one responsible for ripping his little Welsh-git of a heart out. I've nearly lost him twice, and with life the way it is I don't want my last words to him to be that I love someone else, if that realisation ever decides slap me with its proverbial hand, right in the face. I want him to be happy, yet the only way to make him truly happy would be to look at him the same way I look at Charles. But, for now, I'm perfectly content with it just being me and Mr Cookie Dough. Yes. I did just give my ice-cream a name. Yes, I'm probably, if not most definitely, losing it. But when you're deprived from the basics of a freezer for so long (unless it's for storing sterile medical equipment) I deem it perfectly normal that I am sitting, all alone, talking to my type two diabetes in a tub.

Since leaving Smurf to catch up with the others, I'd cornered one of the nurses and demanded to know what it was that was _actually_ wrong with him. (I meant the reason he collapsed- I already know he's messed up for other reasons, in the nicest way possible) She used lots of complicated words. I may be an army medic but I ain't a freaking brain surgeon. But, from what I gathered, he had a small internal bleed on the brain that had been caused, at one point or another, by a knock to the head, but had been made worse by the trauma of being shot in the arm. That was why he had his headaches. They needed to give him a scan to check that the surgery had done its job, but wouldn't for at least another week because the wave frequency they use in those machines could do more harm than good whilst he's still recovering.

My thoughts drift, but basically always come back to the same person, and to the same damn point. I play it on an ongoing loop in my head. Do I like him? Yes, I very much _do_ like him. Was it right for me to like him? No, it most defiantly was _not_; he had a kid and a wife. Did I know this about him before I decided to like him? No. Did I have a full on melt-down when I thought he was going to die? Why yes, I bloody did. Were you willing to change places with him? Yes. Why? Because I like him. Am I in denial? Completely and utterly. Will I stay in denial? …Let's find out I guess.

Because, without even needing to turn around, I know he's there. My Captain. No, it's not because I have this amazingly romantic sixth sense, so that I know when he's around; I can just see his reflection in the blackened-out glass opposite me. I smirk.

"Stop staring at the back of my head you muppet" I say, rolling my eyes and continuing my assault on the cold-sweet-treat, whilst letting off on the one I had just fired about in my conscious.

He scoffs and I can hear him shuffle over, still limping. When he sees what I'm eating he just shakes his head, smiling.

"I'm not even going to ask, Dawes" he says, sitting next to me, propping is leg up.

"You're just jealous that you share my affection with food. This amazing crap is even better than co-co pops" I say, taking another mouthful to make my point. I regret the decision instantly, as my head aches with the beginning of brain freeze.

At my sour expression of pain, he leans back in his chair grinning smugly like an idiot.

I turn to look at him._ Really_ look at him. I take him in, inch by glorious inch.

He's wearing faded jeans and a navy hoodie, very different to anything I've seen him in before, which sets off the hazel undertones in his eyes. His curly hair is, as always, unruly and dependant on the weather. I look at his nose, his lips, the shape of his face, not giving two wags to the fact I probably look like a crazy lady, staring at him.

How do I deserve that? Here I am, sitting outside by best mate's hospital room, and here he is, giving up his time just after his son's been sick… for me. He sits, a solemn expression now on his face, looking at the door across the hall, wringing his hands in worry.

I feel tears welling up, so I turn away from him so that he doesn't see. I look upwards, trying to gather my confused thoughts and feelings. I brush my thumbs under my eyes to stop the salty water from escaping, but by now it's too late; I can tell he's watching me again.

"Molly?" he says, noticing my distress. "Hey" he says as he grasps my hand. "What's up? Has something happened to Smurf?" he asks, interlocking our fingers, concern shaping his brow.

I shake my head and attempt to smile, unable to sit still.

"No… No, Smurf's fine. He's- Well, he's awake" I reply, trying to sound pleased about it. Not that I'm not or anything, just that right now I feel like shit and I couldn't really care much about the welsh plonker even if I tried.

Charles's face instantly relaxes, but he takes on a more excited urgency.

"How? W- When? He was in a coma! He had a hemerage" he offers up in complete bewilderment, before he takes another look at my face and shuts up immediately, his eyes filling with confusion, then a hint of anger.

"If he's awake- Molly, are you okay? Has he said something to you, or-"

I shake my head again, leaning into his chest and letting my ear lie above where his heart beats. The steady thrum is enough to bring me back to my senses. He seems to have realised that I need a minute, so backs off on the questioning, but now I have regained a, somewhat, calmer composure, he begins again.

"What was that about?" he asks, quietly, cupping my chin and gently turning my head until his brown gaze met my green.

"Nothin, I- I just don't want to lose you that's all" I say, attempting another smile, but I can tell he isn't at all convinced.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. You know I've chosen to stay here" he whispers, slowly brushing my hair with one hand.

"But- In the world we live in, we never know what's around the next corner. I might go off on another tour, and I might come back and find you gone. Or- Or I might never come back. Nobody saw this thing coming with Smurf and I just can't live with the possibility that it might happen to you too" I rant off, but he doesn't stop me; he just looks at me with a sad, albeit confused, expression gracing his gorgeous features.

"I guess all this" I say pointing around me, " has just come and made me realise just how much I really _need _you. And I know we-" I take a breath. "I know we don't really work. I mean you come from a _mansion_, and I grew up down the road from the Westham stadium in a stodgy flat, with an alcoholic for a dad and a mum that seemed to be permanently pregnant. To top it all off, I had a bastard of a boyfriend who cheated on me with my best friend (at the time) and then acted as if everything was hunky-bloody-dory. My point is" I say a lot calmer, "we're completely different people, and I know you don't understand half of what I'm saying most of the time. But I don't care anymore, because I can't live day by day. I need you to know this; that I can't. I can't play it safe foreva. All of these things that mean we shouldn't be together are just that; things. They don't matter, not really. They don't stop me fro-" I swallow, "They can't. I won't let them because I-" I stop, suddenly.

That's just it. Just there. He's looking at me wide eyed and I can bet that I'm looking back at him in much the same way. I didn't know I had it in me.

"Because you what, Dawes?" he asks, leaning forward, voice calm having regained his composure, a small twitch of a smile appearing.

I don't need to lie anymore. I don't need to suppress it. But, as my mind comes to terms with what I'm saying, it decides to turn to mush.

"Because I- Well, you see-" I go bright red with embarrassment.

He smiles, and I become acutely aware of his fleeting glances from my eyes, and down to my lips. I lick them unconsciously.

"Ditto" he whispers, catching on to what I was trying, and failing, to say, before edging his head closer to mine.

I can feel his warm breath, fresh on my mouth. My eyelids flutter shut as I live in the moment, bracing myself for what I know is coming. My stomach does little flips of joy, and I smile.

I close the distance with no bother, wrapping my free arm around his neck and pulling him closer. He places his palms on either of my cheeks, heating my face until I swear it will cook on the bone. I'm in the middle of a hospital, my best friend nearly died not three days ago, and I'm full on kissing the man who used to be my boss. It's sweet and long, and holds a simmering passion I didn't realise either of us had, and it no doubt tastes of cookies. For me, it's our first proper kiss, because before it had always been a case of 'what ifs', but now I'm sure. Now I know. And it gives me the confidence to say what I've never been able to say before. I pull away slightly and place my forehead against his, replicating the pose from weeks ago, while we both, now, try and catch our breath.

"I love _you._"


End file.
